One of my greatest challenges as a writer is overcoming distraction – that irritating tendency to focus on anything except the task at hand.

The last place you’d expect to hear the chortle of kookaburras echoing across a valley at dusk is on a small island off the North Island of New Zealand – but there it is again.

Anyone who has lost a pet or other important animal will understand why. For the past three years I’ve been blessed to share my life with a wonderful, plucky little dog named George.

I’ve reached a fork in the road. As we all do, I slaved over the first draft of my first novel, with mixed success, according to my honest and beloved early readers.

I was eight years old when my mother handed me my first square of needlepoint canvas and a big, blunt tapestry needle, then invited me to choose some colours.

Today I want to talk about love but first, a little caveat. In case the fun police are watching…

The first (and only) time I rode a bicycle was in rush hour - in Amsterdam. Of course, it was always going to end badly. I had no idea what I was doing…